


Take It Off

by whisperedwords



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M, Lots of drinking, M/M, Meaningless Sex, Persistant!Sebastian, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, repressed feelings, strip club au, which Sebastian and Santana are terrible at, which turns into Emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sebastian is a stripper who gives Santana a lap dance and Santana refuses to admit he's attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a MAJOR work in progress, and i am terrible at updating things so don't expect this to be one of those "updates every tuesday" kind of fics. dedicated to sameeha because she keeps me shipping this trainwreck of a pairing.

Santana Lopez doesn’t consider herself a strip club kind of girl. Frankly, she thinks they’re sleazy and full of disgusting people who are too old or lazy to get themselves off, which is why she’s always made a case for not going. That being said, there are certain situations where not going is just not an option for her. The night of Rachel Berry’s bachelorette party was one of those situations. Complaining to her was something Santana should’ve known wouldn’t end well—the puppy eyes and whiny voice usually prevented her from even  _trying_  in the first place. Even after explaining that she was  _not_ interested in watching men tear their clothes off and dance like idiots, Rachel had refused to take no for an answer. (“Rachel, I think we both know I don’t swing that way.” “So you can be our designated driver! I’m getting married, not you, so I decide who goes out with me on my last night as an unmarried woman. You’re going, and I don’t care what you say.” “I hate you so much.”) It’s no surprise, then, that she’s walking beside the bride-to-be in the group of girlfriends she had dragged along to the only strip club in Lima.

"Don’t forget, Berry, I’m not wasting my dollar bills on some special lap dance for you," Santana hums as they walk through the doors and into the blaring, music-filled room. Rachel just rolls her eyes in response, and they wade deeper into the darkness. Almost immediately, three men swoop in on them (probably Quinn’s doing, seeing as she was the one who set the whole thing up) and lift Rachel into their arms while she squeals excitedly. The rest of the girls follow them, leaving Santana and Quinn still standing by the entrance. The Latina turns her head. "You up for a drink?"

"Can’t," The blonde answers, shaking her head with a disappointed smile, "I promised I’d keep everyone out of trouble tonight, which means no fun for me."  Santana gives her a sympathetic look, and then looks over her shoulder.

"You might wanna start, then. It looks like Rachel is breaking the ‘no touching’ policy." With a laugh, she tells Quinn that she’ll be back with them in no time, and then watches her run to rescue her (somehow already tipsy?) friend. She sighs and wonders what she got herself into, then remembers that drinks are half-price all night and perks up immediately. The bar is on the other side of the club, much to her relief, so she won’t have to worry about her friends embarrassing her while taking body shots off of definitely gay strippers. Her feet hurt already when she gets to the counter, and she immediately takes them off once she’s settled on the stool. With a whistle to the bartender, she starts her night off with a shot of watermelon Smirnoff and a couple winks at the unsuspecting women beside her.

She’s about to start hitting on one of them when the “new” act, a group of lanky guys in gold boxer briefs, starts to strut through the crowded aisles and make their way to their lucky guests. Unluckily for Santana, one of them chooses her. He winks at her and then straddles her on the seat.

"Honey," Santana starts in her most condescending voice, "don’t waste your time. I can’t get it up for your type." She looks him straight in the eyes, and it’s then she realizes her statement isn’t totally true. His eyes are green, sparkling and dark, and they’re watching her intently.

"Oh, sweetheart," He purrs, his voice smooth as he rolls his hips against hers casually. "It’s cute that you think I  _can_.” He drapes both arms around her neck and leans his head back, showing off the muscle and veins that look infinitely more appealing in their low-lit environment. “I do this for the money, not for your average looking faces.” He leans back up and comes close enough that their noses almost touch. His breath is warm against her lips.

"You must be a hit with the ladies with those words," She sneers, and he chuckles, his forehead now dropped in front of her face.

"I’m a hit with  _everyone_.” He replies matter-of-factly, lifting his head back up to lean close to her ear. “You’re no exception.” Santana could swear she felt his teeth graze her earlobe.

"You ever made a lesbian come?" She hums as he settles more firmly on her thighs. He flashes a dangerous smile at her.

"Can’t say I have," He murmurs, cupping her face in his hands and then dragging his fingertips lightly down her neck, "but I can try." He sounds confident enough, and Santana looks at him,  _really_  looks at him, and watches, amazed, as his lips part and his eyes flutter shut. The buzz of the club is drowned out by his act, the way he moves effortlessly on her lap like a lover even though she doesn’t even know his name. His skin is light—a little pale for her taste, but still smooth looking, and it almost turns her on.  _Almost_. “Is this the part where you ask when I get off shift?” He mumbles, digging his fingers into her hips as if previewing a whole new kind of show. She chuckles.

"Do you think I’m that desperate?"

"I don’t even know who you  _are_ , how am I supposed to know how desperate you are?” He grins cheekily at her. “I get off at 1:45, since you’re dying to know. Meet me in the parking lot.” And with that, her challenge removes himself from her lap and moves on, finding another guest to show off on. She knocks back the drink that had been previously discarded and watches as he performs the same trick on the new person, an older man—but it’s different, because he turns his head and winks at her, that dangerous smile still stretched across his face.

Of  _course_  Santana had to do this on her one night in a strip club. With a sigh of annoyance, she slips her black heels back on and wanders over to where her friends are sitting, right in front of the runway. She snorts in disbelief and pulls up a chair next to Quinn, who’s tapping at the table idly and watching the stage.

"Are you serious, Q?" Santana murmurs, leaning closer to her. She laughs.

"It was Rachel’s idea to get as close as possible. She wants to experience ‘the whole thing’, apparently." Her friend replies, leaning into San’s side. "Besides, it isn’t bad. The view, I mean." She gestures up, where a ripped blonde guy is currently crouched by a pole and obviously showing off a little muscle.

"Have we reached our new low?" Santana teases. Embarrassed, Quinn leans over to her ear.

"He’s been over here at least six times, San, which means he’s probably into one of us. And we all know I’m the best looking one here—"

"Besides me, you mean."

"Sure, sure. You were over there getting yourself a lap dance, though, so I think you’re out of the picture." With a smirk, she prods her friend’s shoulder. "I thought you didn’t swing that way, Lopez."

"I don’t!" She replies indignantly, a little loud but refusing to back down. "He came and sat down on  _me_. I’m the victim here.” Quinn purses her lips in annoyance. “And anyway, look out, Blondie is headed this way.” Almost on cue, the stripper that she had her eyes on appeared in front of their table, sending a rumble of approval over the whole table. Quinn scooted closer. Santana just ordered another drink and sat back, watching as her friends drooled over some fit guy forced into wearing a gold speedo.


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel and the girls decide to stay out late that night. Santana thinks she heard one of them shout “you only live once!!!!” drunkenly a few times, but denies it so her respect for her friends wouldn’t drop. They hang around the club until quarter to two, when Quinn decides they’ve all had enough. As their crowd begins to clear out of the club, Quinn turns to find Santana still sitting at the table, swishing her drink around in the glass.

"You coming, San?" She asks, weighed down by one of the partygoers slumped against her. Santana looks up and gives her a quick smile.

"I…" She looks at her phone, checks the time, and then looks back up. "I’ve gotta do something. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, I’ll call a cab." She nods, as if reassuring both herself and her friend. Quinn sighs, and then carts off the woman leaning against her for support. With a deep breath, Santana picks herself up and then follows from a distance, hesitating briefly before stepping into the parking lot and looking around.  _That fucking asshole, gonna leave me here_ —the thought is cut short when she sees a fairly tall man leaning against the hood of his nice-looking car. She starts walking towards him, hoping she’s got the right guy—or is she? Maybe she’s hoping it won’t be him, so she can just get a ride home and not have to deal with his cockiness.

"You’re here." He says once she comes into full view. Her eyes flick up and watch as he moves towards her, limbs just as languid covered in normal clothing. His eyes glint the same green as they did in the dim light of the club, only this time, they’re completely focused on her.

"What can I say?" She replies, her voice a little hoarse. "I wanted to see if you’d fold like the cheap lawn chair you were back there." Her arms instinctively cross. With a chuckle, he steps up close to her, again invading her personal space with his sneaky smile and relaxed voice.

"Don’t be so tense, babe," He teases, resting a hand on her arm. She tears it away, refusing to let him touch her. “‘m not gonna hurt you." He doesn’t touch her again, though, to his credit.

"Listen, this is—this is so fucking stupid, and I don’t know why I’m even here, but let’s just call it a night and pretend this didn’t happen." Santana wraps her coat around her a little tighter, feeling exposed under his strange-yet-welcome gaze.

"Don’t you want to know my name before you try to blow me off?" He hums. A gust of wind blows by them, slipping through the weave of her jacket and sending a chill down her spine.

"I think I’ll live without it." She shivers. "Thanks for the fun time, though." The sarcasm drips from her voice, and she sees him smile at that before she turns around.

"It’s Sebastian." He calls, and she turns back to him, her head tilted to the side. "My name. Ask for Sebastian next time you come by."

"Who says I’m coming by again?" She shouts back, brushing hair from her eyes. Sebastian smiles at her, wide and bright and absolutely addictive.

"I know things." He runs a hand through his hair, messing the coif up a little. "Anyway, I’ll be seeing you around some time." But he doesn’t leave his spot, simply leans against his car and watches her walk away. It’s infuriating, and she can’t go any further without turning back to him.

"What are you waiting for, huh?" She yells, storming back over. He raises an eyebrow. "You gonna kidnap me or something?"

"I told you, I’m not going to hurt you." He reiterates, furrowing his brow and folding his arms defensively. "Do you really think I’d be the kind of guy to do that?"

"I don’t know who you are, so yes, you could definitely be the kind of guy who does that." She sneers, and he rolls his eyes.

"Why are you even back here? Do you just want to pick a fight? Or did you actually want me to fuck you back here?" He snaps, and Santana flinches away from him slightly at his change of composure.

"I just…" Why was she even back here? "I wanted to tell you that my name is Santana."

"Is that all?" His voice is back to its smooth tone, and when Santana looks up, the defensiveness has completely lapsed from his face, replaced by a small smile. It’s then that she realizes her situation—no one else was in the parking lot, and the club had closed. Quinn had left with Rachel and the rest of the team, and  _god_ , she had a wedding to go to tomorrow.

"If you’d be a darling," She manages, "could you give me a lift back to my place?" His smile gets bigger, and he goes over to the passenger side to open the door.

"I didn’t think we’d get there tonight, but okay."

* * *

The car ride back to her house is, surprisingly, not as uncomfortable as she thought it would be. Granted, it was much different than she expected getting a ride from a stripper would be. (She had asked him about that, and he repeated what he had told her earlier—“I need the money, and people need the entertainment.” And that was that.) She settles back into the seat, listening to the pulsing beat from the radio and wondering whether she’d get home in one piece.

"You seem quiet. Are you usually like this?" Sebastian prompts a little later, when they’re about five minutes out from her apartment.

"Not really." She replies, staring out the window. "Just wondering if you’re going to cut me up into pieces and throw me into a garbage bag. The usual, I guess." He snorts at this, pulling up to the front of her building.

"Darn, we reached our destination before I got the chance. Next time, though, promise." He winks at her when she gets out of the car, and she’s halfway up to the front doors of the apartment when she feels the need to turn around. He’s still sitting there in his car, smiling at her in a way that should weird her out. But it’s two o’clock in the morning, and she needs to sleep enough so that she can be a bridesmaid in seven or eight hours, so she brushes it off and keeps walking.

"Goodnight, Santana." He calls. She turns one more time (always turning with him, what was that about?) and grins back at him.

"Goodnight, Sebastian." She would’ve shouted  _Serial Stripper_  at him, but the neighbors probably wouldn’t be a fan of the idea or the noise. She falls asleep easily, the hum of the alcohol in her veins making her eyes heavy and her tongue fuzzy with exhaustion. She dreams of green eyes and bright, white teeth.


End file.
